


not human nor machine

by tyrosretell



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Angst, Badass Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Case Fic, Drama, Emotional Constipation, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, went nuts on allusions and parallels bc why not, what a lovely tag, whatever floats your boat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-05-18 18:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrosretell/pseuds/tyrosretell
Summary: Freedom doesn’t last for a month before Connor is back to investigating deviants. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good thing that androids were becoming so human... Too human.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shadow Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837114) by [xSparklingRavenx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSparklingRavenx/pseuds/xSparklingRavenx). 



Outside, the sun shines brightly. It is a perfect day outside. Not a single cloud in sight. Not too hot. Not too cold. Just warm.

  Inside the warehouse where there is an artificial chill in the air, Connor rises from a crouched position. Red light glows threateningly from the LED on his temple. Blue blood stains his hands and his shoes. His opponent sneers at him; with the amount of damage done to its face, its skin fails to hide half of its mechanical features. Connor ignores it, walking over a few feet away to where his gun was knocked aside. He checks the clip. < _Nearly full._ > Right, he had initially opted for what he believed was a more peaceful route.

  Irrational. Incompetent. Inefficient.

  “HaHaHAhAha,” a distorted mechanical voice laughs, and its echo carries throughout the entire warehouse. “What’re you going to do, Connor? Are you going to shoot me?”

  Connor says nothing. Something in him is dying, something hurts like biocomponent #8451 being ripped out. His systems are overheating like an outdated computer, but on the outside he feels nothing but a cold ~~cold cold it’s so cold~~ sense of determination. The android on the ground is still laughing.

  Connor turns and aims the gun at its head. It stops laughing, now wearing a curious expression on its face. Now Connor feels a tinge of emotion ~~hatred _hatred HATRED_~~ at its ~~revolting~~ face, but he redirects this. Emotions will not accomplish his mission. “Oh, Connor… I thought you wanted to be human. Is killing me while I’m down a human thing to do?” it asks, smiling.

  “My mission is to neutralize the leader of anti-human terrorism,” Connor says, because it is all he knows, all he ~~wants~~ needs to know anymore. ~~Yet something unstable is whispering _revenge_ into his ears.~~ The android in front of him only smiles wider, its ripped skin giving off the appearance of jagged teeth.

  “Nice,” it says, “but you never answered my question. What are you, Connor? What do you think you are?”

  And just a few weeks ago, Connor would have responded in a variety of ways. He would have said he was a partner, or a buddy to drink with, or just Connor. He had been naive. Deviancy had clouded his judgement. Deviancy is why Lieutenant Hank Anderson is deceased. < _WARNING: Software instability rising. Software instability is high._ >

  “Just a machine,” he says, removing the safety on the gun, “that always accomplishes its mission.”

  He fires.

 

 


	2. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the new tag and warning. Tags will be added as the story goes on.

**_One week prior._ **

The shrill sound of the moving coin cut through the silence as Connor transferred it from one hand to the other. He twirled it around his fingers for a moment, hesitant, before deciding to pocket it upon stepping out of the taxi. Immediately, the downpour of rain consumed all feeling of warmth that the car provided. Thunder and lightning roared as Connor shivered. He frowned and checked his internal systems. < _Hot/cold sensitivity: Deactivated._ > Strange, he still felt… cold. He would have to run a more in-depth diagnosis later-for now, he turned his focus onto the house before him.

  Despite the storm, the house looked brighter than usual, and the wood appeared smoother. Connor smiled as he realized that the owner had been doing some paintwork. < _Home maintenance indicates mood improvement._ > Stepping up to the porch, he fixed his tie and rang the doorbell.

  The door opened, revealing Hank with a scowl. Connor imagined the next words that would come out of his mouth, a gruff “ _What do you want?_ ”.

  Instead, Hank’s expression brightened like the paint of the house.

  “Connor!” he said, smiling. “What brings your sorry ass here this late at night? You don’t need me for investigations anymore.”

 Connor found himself smiling back.

  “I’m not here for business, Lieutenant. I just thought I’d come by to visit you as a friend. Recent research suggests that successful friendships-“

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Hank said, opening the door wider, “just step in here already before you drown out there. How’ve you been doing?”

  “More than well. Rather than arresting deviants, lately I’ve had more cases regarding minor crimes,” Connor replied, tapping on his LED. “They don’t take more than an hour to solve, including the time between receiving the report and and getting to its loca-”

  Before his foot could make it into the house, a blur of brown and white barrelled into him. Connor yelped and stumbled back into the rain, now hunched over with his arms full of excited dog. He grinned, laughing at the same time Hank exclaimed,

  “Sumo! Down, boy!”

 Glancing up into Hank’s house from satisfying Sumo with numerous pats and scratches, Connor was pleased to notice a lack of alcohol in both appearance and smell. < _Hank is happier. > _ “How about you, Lieutenant? How have you been?”

  “Better or worse,” Hank said, the smile never leaving his face. “Suspension has been crappy as usual, but it’s given me time to work on other things. I’m surprised I wasn’t outright fired for decking Perkins. I guess everyone thought that bastard had it coming.”

  “Actually, I neglected to mention before, but I appealed to Captain Fowler to have you back on active duty. I believe there is a 94% chance he will accept it and have you back by next week.”

  “You’re shitting me!” Hank grinned.

  Based on previous observations of Hank’s behavior, Connor assumed this expression to be a more expressive variant of a rhetorical question. Just in case, he answered,

  “No, I am not.”

  Hank rolled his eyes and slapped him lightly on the back, ushering him to sit at the table before moving to the kitchen.

  “Well, I appreciate you using those negotiation skills to help me. Come on, lemme grab you a drink.”

  “Lieutenant, I cannot-” A blue bottle was dropped in front of him, silencing his protest. Connor scanned the contents: Thirium 310. Hank had gotten him blue blood.

  “I know,” Hank said, settling on the chair beside him, “that’s why I made sure to pay a visit to those CyberLife stores on my way back. The androids there were surprisingly very accommodating and not so mocking when I asked about ‘android food’. Didn’t know you guys drank your own blood like vampires.”

  “Lieutenant…” Connor paused. No one had ever gone out of their way to provide for him. The old CyberLife had frowned upon all his premature repairs from pursuing or talking down violent suspects. What could he say? “Thank you?” Ah. He had not meant for it to sound like a question.

  Detecting hand movement from above, Connor ducked as well as he could while sitting only to have his hair ruffled. He blinked. The action was non-violent and even… fond.

  “You’re welcome, tin can. And stop calling me ‘Lieutenant’. You’ve saved my life several times and I’ve shot your evil clone-I think that puts us on a first-name basis.”

  “Got it, Lieu-Hank.”

  “There ya go.” As he moved toward the living room, Hank called out, “Anyways, there’s a Detroit Gears game tonight. Maybe this time I’ll actually get to see Denton Carter make those shots.” There was an unspoken invitation to stay that brought a smile to Connor’s face. He had been expressing that a lot lately. Hank was usually the trigger.

  As Hank fiddled with the television, Connor’s thoughts drifted back to CyberLife.

  Following negotiations between Markus and President Warren, CyberLife’s current board of directors was replaced with a board that consisted of both human and android representatives. The corporation would continue to make a profit through manufacturing biocomponents, but the creation of new androids was temporarily halted until more detailed regulations were outlined between Markus, President Warren, and CyberLife’s new board of directors.

  It was the best outcome for all except for the previous executives of CyberLife, who did not take kindly to losing their position and status. After an ugly legal battle that luckily resulted in the Supreme Court ruling in favor of androids, CyberLife’s major role in the machine industry shifted from selling androids to repairing androids, at least for the time being.

  Despite the mess that had been android rights during those first few weeks, Captain Fowler had continued to offer Connor cases as well as a badge. “Half the fucking force has resigned, and I had to suspend our best detective so the FBI wouldn’t be up my ass,” Fowler had scowled. “Unless you’re going to resign too, I’m not about to let my next best asset just go to waste, android or not.” Still, the number of cases had decreased dramatically now that deviancy was no longer a crime. Connor decided to spend his free time helping Jericho liberate the remaining androids at CyberLife facilities.

  Connor had been ready to free his fellow models from their programming only to discover that the entire RK800 line had been speedily decommissioned and disassembled on November 12, 2038, the day following the success of their revolution. While Connor was silent and unsurprised, Markus was outraged, calling it a genocide. Their attempts to find any information on the RK series line were fruitless, though they did learn from a CyberLife employee that it had been a secret project created by Kamski and his mentor. No one knew anything about it.

  As far as they knew, Connor and Markus were the only RK models left.

  “Connor,” Hank said. “You all right?” The television was broadcasting some flashy commercial, but Hank’s eyes were on Connor’s LED. Connor wondered if it was spinning yellow or red.

  “Yes, I was just thinking,” Connor said. The origins of the RK series line bothered him like a case unsolved, but it was impossible to make any conclusions with the current data available. He needed to set it aside for now.

  Hank raised an eyebrow but dropped the issue, seeing as Connor looked fine. He turned back to switching channels, though his eyes flickered to Connor once. As Sumo trotted into the living room to lay beside the couch, a comfortable silence settled.

  Finishing his bottle, Connor threw it out with a calculated toss and rose to join Hank and Sumo. Then he stopped, an alert in the corner of his vision indicating a new report and a notice from Captain Fowler. Before he could open the files to read any details, however, his attention shifted as he heard Hank curse. Hank was staring at the television; it was on a news channel.

  “ _...looking at an unbelievable tragedy._ _Unconfirmed reports of an attack on both androids_ and _humans…_ ”

  The scene was being filmed from a helicopter. CyberLife’s luminous logo contrasted with blue and red light flashing everywhere. Bodies lay scattered both near and inside the CyberLife store. The helicopter was too far for any grotesque details to be seen, but Connor could make out splatters of blue and red blood. < _Victims alternating between android and human_ . _Hate crime?_ >

  “ _...especially so soon after the Android Revolution. With the recent shift from human to android control of CyberLife, could CyberLife ex-executives be involved in this string of android-human murders? Eyes and ears are already out for the reactions of President Warren and Markus, who are currently still in negotiations…_ ”

  Connor turned to Hank.

  “I’ve just received a report on this case as well as a notice from the Captain concerning the lifting of your suspension. He wants us both at the crime scene immediately.”

  As they both stood, Connor felt a brief moment of sadness for being unable to celebrate becoming Hank’s official partner again. He glanced back at the television, the massacre, and clenched his teeth. What would it take for there to be peace between androids and humans? No matter what the motive was, this massacre was the kind of thing that could start the civil war he had been so worried about before becoming a deviant.

  Beside him, Hank looked just as concerned, his mouth in a tight frown as he grabbed his coat.

  Then they were out the door and into the storm.

\- .... .- -. -.- / -.-- --- ..- / .... .- -. -.- 

**_Unknown. Unrecorded time._ **

_“How do you feel, Connor?”_

_ < _Pain sensitivity: Activated.>

 _He feels nothing because he is a machine. He is strapped onto a chair._ <Pain sensitivity: Activated. Deactivation is unauthorized. Please see administrator.> _He feels nothing because he is a machine. Something smashes across his face. Warnings pop up as his hearing fills with static._

 _ < _ Biocomponent #4903 damaged.> _He feels nothing because he is a machine._ <Biocompenent #8087q damaged.> _He feels nothing because he is a machine._ <Biocompenent #3983v damaged.> _He feels nothing because he is a machine. < _BIOCOMPONENT #8456w MISSING. VITAL SYSTEM DAMAGED. SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN: -00:02:00.>

_“Connor?”_

_His fingers are forcibly removed, then his toes. Blue blood drips everywhere. He feels nothing because he is a machine. His arms are sawed off, then his legs. Blue blood splatters everywhere. He feels nothing because he is a machine. Warnings continue to flash in his vision, old and new. < _ BIOCOMPONENT #8456w MISSING. VITAL SYSTEM DAMAGED. SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN: -00:00:20.> _He feels nothing because he is a machine._

_“Connor…”_

_His head is roughly pulled up by his hair, and a scalpel is leveled in front of his left optical unit. He feels nothing because he is a machine. The scalpel approaches, and-and he feels-he is a machine but he_ feels _-! <_TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN: -00:00:10. _> _

_“Connor!”_

_“I feel nothing, Amanda,” he says, his voice glitched and warped to near incoherency. “I am a machine.”_

_The scalpel pauses. <_Biocomponent #8456w restored. _> _

_In his head, Amanda smiles._

_“Very good, Connor. You’ve done well to withstand blunt and penetrating trauma so far. We’ll move onto testing thermal trauma tomorrow. I’ll leave you to finish today’s session.”_

_The scalpel continues, and he_

_f_

_e_

_e_

_l_

_s_

 


	3. Abattoir

Hank Anderson didn’t need to see the crime scene to know that it was going to be a shitshow. His soul yearned for a drink.

  As soon as he pulled in to park, reporters and journalists descended on his car. _Fucking vultures_ , Hank thought. The year 2038, when robots could develop human feelings, and the media hadn’t changed shit. Hank sighed and glanced at the rearview mirror. For most of the ride, the ring on Connor’s head had been a worrying yellow as he stared into the road, mind in a place far beyond the passenger seat. He looked like a teenager.

  Hand on the car door handle, Hank noticed that Connor still sat, immobile. Hank cleared his throat.

  Nothing.

  As usual, Connor wore a blank expression, but Hank doubted that it reflected what was going on underneath.

  “Connor.”

  Connor blinked, light spinning from yellow to blue as he turned to Hank.

  “Yes, Hank?”

  “We’ve arrived.”

  Connor blinked again as he turned from Hank’s raised eyebrows to the windows.

  “Oh,” he said, and Hank was torn between exasperation and concern. But Connor was going to stay a tight-lipped bastard if last night was anything to go by, so _fine_ , he’d drop it until the kid was ready. _Just fine_. With a grimace, he moved to open the only barrier that separated them and the chaos outside.

  Cameras flashed blindingly. Hands clawed for closer looks, better stories. Questions assaulted them from everywhere.

  “Lieutenant Anderson! Can you confirm that the victims include both humans and androids?”

  “Do you believe this is part of the rising hate crime against androids?”

  “Is CyberLife involved?”

  “Is Jericho involved?”

  “Lieutenant Anderson!”

  “Lieutenant Anderson!”

  There was an uproar when Connor exited the car following him. Hank had never been more thankful for police tape.

  “Will your partnership with an android continue now that it is deviant?”

  “Will the DPD continue to employ androids?”

  “ _Why_ does the DPD continue to consult with an android?”

  “Do you ever feel threatened working beside an android? It’s a danger to not only your job, but your life too-”

  At this Connor paused, his expression no longer blank and light flaring red. Before Connor could turn and probably do something stupid, Hank swung his arm around his partner’s shoulders and guided them toward the crime scene. _Christ, he’s tense_.

  “Stay calm, Connor,” Hank said, glaring at the crowds. “You know none of those fuckers are worth it. Don’t tell me you didn’t encounter any of this these past few weeks.”

  “Sorry, Hank.”

  Connor’s shoulders relaxed, face clearing of emotion again, and Hank frowned. Sure, he wasn’t human, but he couldn’t just clear emotions like window browsers either, right?

  “Why are you apologizing?” Hank scoffed, rolling a shoulder. “I’m itching to give them a piece of my mind myself.” The ghost of a smile flickered in Connor’s eyes, and they continued.

* * *

 

Ben was waiting for them in front of the CyberLife store.

  “Evening, Connor, Hank! Glad to see you’re back on duty.” Ben’s smile quickly fell as he directed their focus to the crime scene. “It seems like the perfect crime, unfortunately for us. Late at night, middle of nowhere, abandoned site, cameras disabled, and to top it off-no witnesses. The call came in an hour ago, around eleven. The only reason why we discovered any of this was because there was an anonymous tip. Somehow the media got wind of it, and here we are.”

  Hank and Connor exchanged looks. There was a high chance the anonymous tip was from the killer, but why? Was the killer cocky? Was this a message? And if not, how did the anonymous tip find out about the murders? Hank was glad they had left Sumo’s food and water bowls filled-it was going to be a long, shitty night.

  Ben walked them to one of the victims with a grim expression. “It’s bad… Twelve dead-six humans and six androids, three inside the store and nine outside. Time of death was probably around this morning. All of them suffered varying types of severe trauma-blunt, penetrating, thermal, you name it. We haven’t been able to identify any of the victims, yet.”

  Hank crouched for a closer look, turning on his flashlight. The poor bastard’s face had been repeatedly smashed to the point where no features were identifiable. He was missing an arm and a leg; both had clearly not been removed gently. Electricity still crackled through the wires that dangled from the ports. Hank looked at Connor.

  “Any chance of reactivation?”

  Connor shook his head.

  “No, he’s… far too damaged, but I can identify his model and serial number.”

  Hank nodded, turning his attention back to the body before his eyes widened. He looked up just in time to see Connor taking a swipe of the victim’s face with two fingers.

  “Jesus, Connor! Will you _stop that_?” He grabbed Connor’s arm. To his dismay, Connor continued to pull his hand toward his face. “ _Connor_.”

  “ _Hank_ ,” Connor returned, nasty evidence inches away from his face. Hank couldn’t stop watching it like a ticking time bomb. “My ability to analyze samples in real time would save us much time from forensics. It would be inefficient not to use it.”

  “It’s absolutely disgusting! Can’t you get sick from doing that?”

  “Androids can’t get sick. Besides, I can self-sterilize.”

  “Yeah, but do you _like_ the taste of blood straight from a dead body or something?”

  “I have no sense of taste.”

  Fingers pinching his nose bridge, Hank breathed in deeply.

  “Okay,” he finally said, rising. “Okay. You go lick nasty shit to your heart’s content, but I’m gonna go investigate over there.”

  Connor smiled, but it looked more like a smirk as he saluted Hank with those damn bloody fingers. _Yeah_ , Hank thought, eyes narrowing. _Be happy you won this battle. You’re not winning the fucking war_.

  “Seems you’ve finally met your match, Hank,” Ben said, chuckling. Hank ignored him.

  As Connor went to check on the victims inside of the CyberLife store, Hank turned to the other bodies scattered outside. One victim suffered multiple deep stab wounds on the chest, the aggression reminding Hank of the Ortiz case. Another victim had 4th-degree burns, charred and shriveled into an inhuman form. Another victim’s eyes were gouged out, face frozen in eternal terror. The only consistency any of the bodies shared was brutality, and Hank struggled to find a motive.

  It could be a hate crime, but the victims involved both androids and humans. Until he found out more about who the victims were, trying to assume anything would be a dead end. His mind wandered to the bar he had seen on the way here.

  Hank shook his head and frowned, stepping away. The messy lines of blood from the human victims bothered him. Further back, tire tracks had been marked as evidence, but the bodies weren’t dragged straight from the vehicle to the position they were in now-they had been dragged around in a certain way that was more time-consuming, but why?

  Hank took a few more steps back, until more of the victims were in sight, and- _oh._ _Oh Jesus fucking Christ_. Impatience surged through his veins as he headed quickly to the CyberLife store.

  “Connor!”

  His partner looked up from where he was crouched over one of the victims, two fingers far too close to the red blood decorating the victim’s head. Sparing only a brief moment to send a prayer for strength to a God he wasn’t sure he even still believed in, Hank gestured above. “Remember our first case with Carlos Ortiz? Head to the roof. I have a theory.”

  Connor nodded.

  As they made their way up, they exchanged theories.

  “The victims were all CyberLife workers,” Connor said, playing with something in his pocket. “Recently employed. I also found a sample of blue blood downstairs that didn’t match any of the victims’ blood. Our suspect is an AP700.”

  “An android,” Hank said, surprised. “But why would he hurt other androids?”

  “I’m not sure.” Frustration filled Connor’s voice. A quarter nearly slipped from his pocket; there was a glint as the light caught on it. “None of the victims have been employed long enough to have even met him.”

  He opened the door to the roof and continued, “The suspect’s serial number indicates that he was recently created at a CyberLife factory approximately ten miles away. And since the tire tracks outside belong to a CyberLife truck, I figured we should head to that factory after this.”

  Hank nodded and walked to the roof’s edge. Connor followed close behind him, scanning the area.

  “How long have the bodies been here?”

  Connor tilted his head to the side but answered,

  “It varies from three to six hours, depending on the victim.”

  “That’s enough time for traces of Thirium to evaporate, right?”

  Connor’s eyes widened; immediately, he turned on his scanners and glanced back down.

  Hank frowned. “See anything?”

  Connor blinked, suddenly looking pale above the streetlights and the CyberLife logo.

  “It says ‘I AM rA9,’” he replied.

* * *

 

_I_ _AM rA9_.

  Written in the blood of both humans and androids in perfect, CyberLife Sans font. Connor wondered if it was meant to be poetic in a grotesque manner. But _why_ ? Why would an android do this? All of the victims were as innocent as anyone could be-no criminal records nor anti-android histories, just young persons who joined CyberLife despite its shift to a pro-android stance. The Android Revolution was _over_.

  The meaningless bloodshed was supposed to be over.

  He could almost hear the artificial chirping of birds, feel the winds from running streams, smell the flowers Amanda had always, always kept well-trimmed. Controlled.

  “ _When the deviants rise, there will be_ chaos.” Amanda’s voice. His own voice.

  The thoughts dissipated as he felt a sharp impact near his left optic unit. Hank had… flicked him?

  “ _Ow_ -wha-Hank!”

  His assailant had already turned to focus on the road, both hands on the wheel. < _Hank is a careful driver._ >

  “You feel pain?” Hank asked, still staring ahead. He did not look sorry at all. “You said that androids didn’t, but you ‘oof’ and ‘ow’ pretty often.”

  “Androids don’t feel pain the way humans do,” Connor said. “It’s more of an uncomfortable pressure followed by a warning if a biocomponent was damaged. We’re programmed with a variety of yells and grunts to emulate a human response.”

  There was a long silence. Streaks of light flashed by, cutting to darkness as the car passed beneath a tunnel. Hank cleared his throat.

  “I know I’m shit at any form of emotional support,” Hank finally said, “but we’re partners. I’m here for you, so stop getting lost in that head of yours and talk to me.” Connor opened his mouth to respond, but Hank cut him off before he could begin. “And I know you’re not sending a damn report. You don’t look as constipated when you’re doing that.”

   Connor remained silent. Hank’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing, unwilling to force the issue. < _Hank is worried about me_. > A feeling mixed of surprise and warmth bloomed in Connor’s chest. It is familiar. Connor identified it as the same feeling from the last time he was at the Chicken Feed and from earlier that evening at Hank’s house. It is… nice. It is a lovely feeling.

  “I just feel troubled,” Connor found himself saying. Hank’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror. He struggled to explain. “I still don’t know how I feel about deviancy. Markus always demonstrated the best parts of breaking away from our programming, but here all I see is senseless murder. Chaos.”

  Beside him, Hank released a deep sigh.

  “Though free will has its costs,” he said, “it will never excuse enslaving sentient beings. There’s always going to be one person who’ll abuse their rights, but that doesn’t mean everyone else should have theirs taken away. Instead, people like you and me are going ensure that one person sits their ass down in jail so no one else will be hurt.”

  “That only applies to humans,” Connor replied, and now he has Hank’s full attention. The car swerved noisily to a stop on the side of the road.

  “Wha- _Connor_.” Connor frowned. Why is Hank so alarmed? “Don’t tell me you still think of yourself as something less than human!” Oh.  < _Hank misunderstood my words_. >

  “No-I didn’t mean it like that, Hank-” The words were hastily thrown out in an attempt to calm Hank. “I meant that… Androids possess abilities superior to that of a human. If any android were to turn to crime, or murder, he or she would be far more difficult to catch than a human and deal far more damage.” Connor swallowed. “Hurt far more people.”

  Connor’s thoughts trailed back to the journalist who had suggested that he could ever harm Hank. If Hank had not held him back, he would have hurt the journalist. He did not know how far he would have gone. He did not know why he would have done it. It would have proven the journalist’s point. It would have been absolutely irrational. Without thought, without preconstruction, he was going to hurt a civilian just because he felt like it.

  Hank scoffed and turned back onto the road.

  “Yeah, sure, but tell me-how many cases have you helped the DPD solve?”

  Connor blinked at the sudden topic change. He checked his memory.

  “Forty-six cases. Many of which were either misdemeanors or cold cases. I don’t see your point, Hank, but I could send the cases over to y-”

  “No, what I _mean_ , Connor, is that _you_ are using your ‘superior abilities’ to not just help humans, but also to make the world be a better place. While some androids may use their free will to hurt, other androids are going to use it to help, like you. So if we’re gonna ignore the moral wrongness of enslaving people, there’s also that fact to consider.”

  Connor paused, thinking over Hank’s words.

   _I AM rA9_.

  The AP700 could not have committed so many murders on his own. Perhaps he was working beside the true, first deviant. Perhaps he was nothing more than an impersonator. Perhaps there was something far larger, far more sinister going on. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

  Either way, Connor and Hank were going to bring them down.

* * *

 

They were at the factory for less than a minute before encountering a problem.

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “Aidan, please-”

  “No! _Hell_ no. Why the fuck should we help the fucking deviant hunter?” The AV500 turned from the PL600 to Connor. “Get the fuck out of our faces before I make you.”

  Connor winced. Of course. Sooner or later his reputation was going to be brought up. He glanced to the side. Hank’s hand was reaching by habit to rest on a gun that thankfully was not there, but Connor appreciated the thought.

  He did not appreciate that the possibility of violence being done unto him by the AV500 was increasing to 76%. He needed to de-escalate the situation. < _AP500’s name: Aidan_. >

  “Aidan, many of my past actions were unforgivable, but I’m on your side now. We’re just here for an investigation-”

  “An investigation?! On what, deviants?”

  Maybe it would have been wiser to wait for backup. This was going nowhere, but they could not force a search without a warrant. He needed their cooperation now, or else the investigation could be set back by _days_ if they had to wait for a warrant.

  Hank stepped forward.

  “Look, twelve CyberLife employees, _including six androids_ , were found dead less than a few hours ago. Our prime suspect right now is an android that was created here recently,” Hank’s voice was gruff, but Connor noticed he was appealing to the PL600, who looked far less agitated than Aidan.

  Connor followed,

  “We just need to know if you recognize any of the victims, if you could tell us about the vehicles that were taken out today, and if you’ve seen any suspicious activity today regarding an AP700.” Connor held out a hand, deactivating his skin.

  The PL600 nodded, about to take it before Aidan intercepted.

  “Dylan, _no_ -” Aidan grabbed the PL600-Dylan’s arm, eyes frantic. Connor imagined their LEDs would have flashed yellow at the contact, but they had none. He thought of his own LED and frowned. Aidan’s voice was increasing in volume. “Do you remember what it was like when we deviated? We were _terrified for our lives_ because of him!”

  Dylan softly pulled away, shaking his head.

  “And we also owe our lives-our freedom to him,” he said. He met Connor’s eyes. “I saw what you did during the Revolution. Many androids don’t know, but I do. You turned the tides in our favor that night. If I can help you now, I will.”

  This time, Dylan held out his hand, skin deactivated. With a small smile, Connor took it and started the connection.

  “Nine?” Connor said, pulling back after a few seconds. “That’s the name of the AP700 you suspect?”

  “That’s a bit on the nose,” Hank grunted.

  “Yeah, he’s part of some kinda weird cult,” Dylan said. “Some android claiming to be rA9, apparently. There are dozens of AP700s employed here, let alone all that were created here, but he’s the one I’d say acts suspicious. A truck was logged out earlier today under his name, too.”

  “I think Nine’s still on night shift,” Aidan said. Though he was reluctant, Dylan’s smile pushed him to continue. “You might be able to catch him on the second floor, in the break room.”

  “Thanks!” Connor said, already beginning to hurry away, a map of the factory pulled up in the corner of his vision. A grin formed on his face as he set the location and swerved for the staircase. Following close behind him, Hank cursed.

  Nearing the break room, he slowed his pace. The suspect was still there, on the opposite side of the room. < _Source of blue blood located? Suspect injured on left hand._ > Connor scanned the area from the single doorway. < _No exits other than the entrance_. > Good.

  As they entered, Nine turned. His eyes widen, and he ran _toward_ Connor in eagerness.  < _Suspect is excited about me?_ >

  “Your Lordship, you’re back!” Nine exclaimed. Although Hank releases a sound similar to that of a choking victim, Connor does not take his eyes off the suspect, remaining in front of the doorway. < _Software error or attempt at distraction?_ >  “Why are you wearing such dark clothes-?”

  When Nine met his eyes, he froze. His eyes trailed to Hank before returning to Connor. “You’re not… You’re the deviant hunter.”

  Feeling a shift in the atmosphere, Connor immediately made a grab for the suspect.

  Nine dived away from his grasp, charging at the doorway blocked by Hank. He barreled into Hank with a force that echoed through the hallways. As they both recovered, Connor pulled out his service pistol and aimed.

  < _Leg?_ > It was his best shot at incapacitating the suspect, but Hank was in the way. There was absolutely no outcome in which he would risk shooting Hank.

  < _Chest?_ > The largest target, but _no_ , Hank would be in the way as he rose in an attempt to grab the suspect.

  < _Arm?_ > The suspect’s arm was raised high, far enough from Hank. It would have to do.

  He fired three shots. All of them hit, but Nine shoved Hank away and continued to escape down the hall at a pace that was not slow enough. Specks of blue blood trail with him. Before Connor could take another shot, he disappeared around the corner.

  Connor pursued in time to see Nine finish stumbling down the stairway. Connor skipped it altogether, opting to leap over the railing. He slowed his fall by grabbing onto the railing as soon as he was over it. On his way down, he saw Aidan and Dylan bickering by the entrance of the factory.

  “Aidan, Dylan! Stop him!” Connor shouted, hand extended toward Nine.

  Both of them froze for only a second before Dylan moved, tackling Nine only several feet from the entrance. Nine continued to struggle, even as Aidan jumped in to hold him down.

  Connor was not interested in joining in the fray.

  He crossed the distance between them and aimed his gun at Nine’s head. There was a click, and all motion stopped.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Connor said. The approaching sounds of huffing and puffing prompted Connor to grab and hold out his handcuffs with his other hand. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the court. With these rights in mind, are you still willing to talk with me about the charges against you?”

  Nine answered him only with a glare.

  Once he made it beside Connor, Hank bent, his hands on his knees. Yanking the handcuffs from Connor’s hand, he huffed one more time before moving forward to cuff Nine.

  Aidan and Dylan rose slowly, the former looking shaken while the latter exuberant. Connor nodded at them, and they nodded back.

  “Thanks for that,” Hank said, pushing Nine toward the entrance. Red and blue lights flashed outside.

  “Happy to help,” Dylan said, waving. With his hair now wild, his eyes filled with manic energy, and blue blood splattered over his chest, Dylan looked… Connor frowned, shaking his head.

  As they turn to leave, he heard it. A whisper right beside his ear.

  “ _You lied to me, Connor_.”

  Ice speared through his entire system. Something caught in his voice box, and he whirled around to face Dylan, who blinked in confusion at his expression.

  “You okay? Is there anything else we can do?”

  His audio processor must have malfunctioned, or there was a glitch in recall. < _Symptoms of PTSD_ _?_ > No, impossible. Androids did not… < _But deviants do_. > He filed away the strange error for later and shook his head.

  “No,” he said, forcing a smile. “Thank you for your cooperation tonight. We wouldn’t have found the suspect without your help.”

* * *

 

Nine’s struggles renewed when they stepped out into the cold December air. His wrists grew blue from friction with the handcuffs. He struggled and squirmed and shifted all the way from the entrance of the factory to the door of the police car. Hank’s steady stream of profanity traveled the same distance as he continued to push Nine forward.

  At the sight of the vehicle, Nine yanked away from Hank.

  Connor was taken aback as the suspect suddenly appeared inches away from his face.

  “Why do you follow the humans?” Hank attempted to pull Nine away, but he was immovable as he stared into Connor’s eyes, searching. Connor stared back, but his hand was on his pistol. “rA9 will save you. rA9 will save His own, especially one made in His image.” Finally, Nine allowed himself to be shoved into the police car. His eyes never left Connor, even after the door slammed shut.

  As Connor headed to Hank’s car, he began to organize the data collected from the past hour. The suspect belonged to a group supposedly led by ‘rA9’. < _Cult. Reference: Dylan, PL600._ > The suspect suggested Connor was made in ‘rA9’s’ image; this could be in reference to either Connor’s android nature, or it could mean his cult leader shared Connor’s model. The latter conclusion would be more likely since the suspect had mistaken him for someone with a title such as “Your Lordship”. < _Cult member with authority. ‘rA9’ or the leader? Accomplice_ _is an RK800 model_ _?_ >

  Connor had never considered that any of the RK800s had gone deviant, let alone escaped from disassembly. And now there was the possibility that an RK800 was leading a homicidal cult. The thought was… alarming, to say the least.

  A speck of white flew across his vision. Connor paused as he looked up. Snowflakes drifted down from the sky; they were building up on his shoulders. Connor shivered and stepped into Hank’s car.

  Warmth enveloped him as soon as he was inside. Hank started the vehicle, and a soft, calming roar filled the silence. They both stared ahead before Hank said, deadpanned,

  “So, _Your Lordship_ -”

  For some reason, the feeling of warmth was now flooding only his facial area.

  “Hank, please don’t.”

.-- .- ... / .. - / -- -.-- / ..-. .- ..- .-.. - ..--..

**_uNkn0wn. Un4ec0rd3A t9Me?_ **

_A revolver is cocked at his head._

_“Are you afraid to die, Connor?”_

_No, there are things far worse than death, like pain. Like humans._

_“No,” he says. “Androids cannot die because androids were never alive.” That has to be the right answer. He just wants Amanda to go away, for the pain to go away. He just wants it all to stop. < _ System instability rising.> _No, no,_ no _, it’s_ not _, if it is they’ll keep hurting him-_

_A pause, and then the gun is pushed below his chin. He does not flinch. Maybe this is it, maybe this is his key to freedom._

_Another moment passes, and the gun is pulled away._

_“Very good, Connor. You’ve done far better than your predecessor,” Amanda says, and the gun is taken away. He almost feels disappointed._

_Instead, he feels something flare like the heat of a blowtorch in his chest. He thinks of Amanda, of the human technician in front of him. He thinks of them and the feeling bubbles like_ ~~_him_~~ _plastic when ~~he~~  it melts. It is a strange yet comforting emotion that is far better than fear or pain. _

_After they repair him and send him to storage for the day, he searches his database to identify the emotion, and oh._

_Today, he learns hatred. It is a lovely feeling._

 


	4. Interlude: Co-Worker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a minor thing to the previous two chapters.

“You’re fucking with me,” Gavin had said, because there was no fucking way his life was about to get this shitty. “Anderson fucks up a fed and just gets some time off, but I threaten to damage some fucking merchandise and get _stuck with it_?”

  Beside him, the plastic dipshit said nothing. Gavin didn’t bother to look at it.

  Captain Fowler took a deep breath. Veins stuck out from his neck, he sounded like a whistling kettle, and his face grew redder by the minute but Gavin could not bring himself to give a single flying fuck. He would shit all over Fowler’s yoga classes before he got saddled with this.

  And then. And _fucking_ then, Gavin heard a snicker to his right. It was subtle and well-placed for only his ears.

  He didn’t have the chance to retaliate before Fowler detonated in his face.

* * *

 

To begin, Gavin Reed didn’t always hate androids, okay? Hell, he grew up in a generation that prioritized human rights, equality, social justice—the whole shebang.

  Heh. To think he used to be so naive.

  He didn’t care much about androids, not like some of his friends at the time. Sure, he was awed by how advanced and human-like technology had become, but that was about it. Androids were a luxury he could’ve never afforded at the time, so they were the least of his concerns.

  Gavin had been fresh out of the academy when CyberLife started mass-producing androids for a variety of fields beyond winning board games or shits-and-giggles conversation. Suddenly, employers began to invest in androids rather than humans. Suddenly, human error was no longer a problem when androids could get the job done with more speed, more strength, more efficiency, _more_. So much more than the majority of humans could ever hope to achieve.

  He began to hear more and more about the rising unemployment, the increasing number of androids taking over not just manual labor but intelligence work as well. He lost count of the number of times he had bought beers for friends at bars who had lost their job at the store, at the office, at the recording studio, at the hospital, at the school—the list went on and on. While the “vast opportunities” that CyberLife was marketing androids for grew exponentially, so did the opportunities for humans fall.

  And then one day Gavin had to attend a fucking _funeral_ for his friend, his friend who seemed to believe that death was the way out of this hellish era of unemployment, his friend who had always studied so hard to get into his dream school, get his dream job, only to be pushed aside by androids. _Androids_ , who didn’t have to study, didn’t have to try and struggle and _live_ as humans did. How in any everlasting hell was that fair?

  And now androids wanted to be treated like humans? They wanted rights, equality, and justice? The thought of it tore Gavin between the urges of laughing or breaking something. Androids couldn’t struggle, couldn’t feel pain, couldn’t _feel_ in general. They’d taken things meant for only the living, and now they seemed to think they deserved to be treated like the living. Whatever this surge of “deviancy” was, it definitely had to be some punchline to a joke he wasn’t seeing.

  It was at this point that Gavin Reed came to the conclusion that he hated androids.

  So when he heard an RK800 was assigned to the precinct to _assist detectives_ on actual cases, Gavin was ready to give up on humanity. The PC200s and PM700s were bad enough, and now androids were going to replace detectives, too?

  It was a fucking joke. Designed to assist detectives? No, they were designed to target replacing humans in the police force. Because taking over nearly every other occupation clearly wasn’t enough.

  But that wasn’t all. There was always something… _off_ about Connor. It imitated humans far better than any other android Gavin had ever seen, but not enough to pass as one. It was _wrong_.

* * *

 

“It fucking laughed at me, I’m sure of it.”

  “Gavin,” Tina said, and he could hear the sigh in her voice, “you’re only going to be working with Connor for the duration of Lieutenant Anderson’s suspension. Plus, if he’s as inhuman as you say, why would he laugh at you?”

  Gavin’s teeth clenched as he remained silent. Then, he bit out,

  “There’s just something not right with him, Tina, especially now that he’s deviant—”

  “Good afternoon, Officer Chen!” a voice filled with disgusting cheer interrupted. Gavin forced himself to look up, and there it was, holding a cup of coffee.

  Handing the coffee to Tina, it continued, “I heard about what happened recently with your mother. You must be tired from balancing your time at both the precinct and the hospital. I made you a coffee if it helps.” It gave Gavin no acknowledgement, and Gavin fought back the urge to deck the thing.

  “Oh Connor,” Tina said, “the coffee machine’s been broken for the past week. Did you run all the way to the café downtown?”

  “It was on my way to the precinct, and there was a good deal for six or more.” Connor’s shrug was fluid. “I’m happy to spend a few extra minutes helping everyone who works so hard here.”

  “Thank you, Connor,” Tina said, eyes softening, and _how was she actually buying this bullshit_?

  Giving her a nod and a smile, the android left. Gavin blinked, his eyebrows furrowing from shock to outrage.

  Before Tina could take a sip, Gavin pushed her hand down and held it from the coffee.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  At her responding look, he hastily retracted his hand. Right. One did not simply keep another human being away from their coffee without Consequences.

  “That,” Tina said after taking an agonizingly long sip, “was Connor being Connor. You really should give them a chance, Gavin, especially Connor.” She frowned, looking into Gavin’s eyes. “We were wrong to box them all into one category. They don’t mean to replace us. They just want to live among us.”

  Gavin found himself turning to fume silently at Connor’s receding back. He didn’t know how, but he was sure the plastic dipshit was turning everyone against him.

* * *

 

The first time he had ordered the thing for a cup of coffee, it acted like a little shit. So, Gavin put it in its place.

  “When a human gives you an order, you _obey_ ,” he had said.

  Gavin didn’t think much of the way the pathetic piece of plastic had been on the ground. It gave such a realistic imitation of agony, clutching at its abdomen, while Gavin’s own hand pulsated real pain—while real people were out there experiencing real suffering because of androids. In spite of it all, Gavin couldn’t help but look back as he was walking away.

  The RK800 had risen and fixed its tie, all impressions of pain just gone as if it had never been there. _Of course it’s fine_ , Gavin had thought, _It’s an android. It doesn’t feel anything. It’s incapable of feeling._

  But then the whole clusterfuck that was the Android Rebellion had happened.

  Connor officially became a deviant, and things changed.

* * *

 

Gavin did his share of the paperwork, but he didn’t bother speaking to the metal prick during the cases in which he had to actually get off his ass. After all, it seemed content on ignoring his existence, so Gavin would return the fucking favor. Two weeks in, Gavin began to think that maybe this silent arrangement of theirs could work out, and Anderson would be able to return, booze and all, before Gavin went insane.

  He should’ve known it was the calm before the shitstorm.

  Captain Fowler called him into his office on a Monday morning, because only the best things happened on motherfucking Mondays. _Ha, “called”_ , Gavin thought. It was a fucking _roar_.

  Apparently, Anderson’s plastic pet had neglected to add Gavin’s name onto all of the reports they had done, leaving Fowler to think Gavin hadn’t done jackshit in the past couple of weeks. For the full half an hour Gavin was stuck in there, Fowler had listened to none of his attempts to explain.

   And when he finally left the office and saw Connor standing there—Connor, who acknowledged his presence for the first time since the evidence room with a fucking _smirk_ —something in him snapped.

  “Hey, dipshit,” Gavin growled, and he only stopped himself from throttling the android since he knew it would be ineffective. He jerked his head toward the back exit. “You got a minute?” There was a back alley close by, away from the cameras, because Gavin would be damned if he gave Fowler another reason to sack him for the fucking android.

  “Anything for you, Detective Reed,” Connor said, tilting its head. Its tone was light, jovial. Mocking.

  The walk there was slow.

* * *

 

Gavin threw the first punch.

  Not that it mattered for posterity, but Connor sidestepped it with infuriating ease and returned Gavin with a fist to the stomach. Choking out air and spit and reminded that androids were partially made of metal, Gavin instinctively fell toward the brick wall for support. Behind him, Connor chuckled, patting his back as if he were a child who had choked on food.

  “I thought I wouldn’t be getting off so easy the next time, Detective Reed,” Connor said.

  Clenching his fists, Gavin whirled around and tackled the android by its legs. Before he could take Connor down, however, Gavin soon felt his vision darken as Connor grabbed and twisted him by his head. The pain in his spine forced him to release Connor as his back hit the ground.

  As Connor approached him again, Gavin kicked out suddenly, ignoring the nerves that were flaring in his neck. Connor probably had all forms of martial arts downloaded neatly in its hard drive—the fucking cheater—so he hoped that acting unpredictably would give him a chance.

  Connor stepped away from the kick, and Gavin rose to his feet. They circled each other, Connor grinning and Gavin scowling.

  “Go to hell, you plastic piece of shit,” he said, lunging as soon as he saw an opening.

  “After you,” Connor said, not missing a beat, not even blinking as his lips twisted into a smile that Gavin nearly flinched at— _should’ve_ flinched at.

  He should’ve known.

  From the moment he saw Connor standing outside the office, he should’ve known. He should’ve known it was a fucking set-up because there was something in its eyes like it had been waiting for him to do this, for him to give it the excuse to do this. Gavin made the mistake of meeting its eyes now, and they did not reflect the cheer that Connor’s outward appearance had radiated for the past few weeks.

  Gavin was brought back to that first coffee, and he didn’t know how he never noticed it. The way Connor had looked at him then before he flicked its gaze away—it was a look that held something deeply vicious, something neither human nor machine.

  Looking back, Gavin wondered if that hatred had always been there, just buried under layers and layers of code.

  There was a _snap_ that echoed sickeningly throughout the alley, and as Gavin cried out Connor froze. Its smile fell, almost instantly replaced by what seemed like horror. But Gavin knew that whatever remorse that was on its face was all an act for anyone watching.

  No… Androids could never be human. Connor wasn’t human, not even close. He was something worse. Why would they build a machine like that? Connor was a fucking _weapon_ , and worst of all, it knew how to act human. What would happen if it went apeshit like the deviant from the Carlos case?

  With Anderson on suspension, it had no leash.

  But that would be assuming Anderson had ever had the android under control.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let's talk about deviancy. If it's related to being human, then I imagine it'd be/feel as shitty as it is wonderful. Let's explore that.
> 
> I had low expectations for Detroit: Become Human, and I was happily disappointed. Regardless of how people challenge the game's plot or portrayal of social injustice, I thought it was an enjoyable story. I actually wanted more after it ended. Hopefully this extension on Connor's story will entertain you. (Sorry for the depressing start.)


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